


Love Kills Slowly

by Esca



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Sadstuck, Siblingstuck, Unrequited Love, crackship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esca/pseuds/Esca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly seven billion people on this Earth, and Cronus couldn't find a single one to love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Kills Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> Let my crack ship sail.

Kurloz didn’t come here for the atmosphere. He didn’t come here for the specials on drafts or the seventy-five cent wells every Friday night. He didn’t come here for the locally celebrated disc jockey and his sick beats dripping with ironic subtext, nor the pretty girls in their skyscraper heels that made their legs seem to go on for miles, or their short skirts and tiny dresses that promised nirvana to the man who could ply them with enough charm and alcohol.

He came here for one reason.

Because _he_ did.

His name was Cronus, and looking at him was like being transported back in time, but with a modern flair that Kurloz found interesting. His leather jacket was studded on the shoulders, he always had a menthol clove cigarette hanging loosely in between his lips, and wore tight black skinny jeans and oiled-up calf-length leather lace-up combat boots. He was horrible at flirting, always striking out and getting drinks thrown in his face, and his failures made Kurloz smirk behind the surface bars piercing his lips as he sipped at his vodka on the rocks and watched Cronus shrug his strong, muscled shoulders before heading out to the dance floor to do his thing like he wasn't even fazed.

It didn't take much study of his body language to decipher that despite all his confidence and swagger, Cronus took rejection rather poorly. Music was his escapism when the world became too much for him to handle.

His hips were like a rhapsody, enticing and perfect as they undulated and swayed in time to each pulsating beat thrumming from the speakers, the sickly-sweet scented fog from the machines making him look almost ethereal as it hazed and ghosted over his pale skin. He looked like he belonged there, like he was at home in this perpetual sea of bodies, whereas Kurloz would rather stay right where he was at the bar and quietly drink himself into oblivion, content to watch him for the moment and wait until the night where this so-called liquid courage would give him what it promised on the label.

He'd never really had a thing for sensitive artistic-types. But Cronus was one to keep an eye on, if not for his good looks then perhaps for the sheer entertainment value he provided by simply being his hard-on-his-luck, overly-flirtatious self.

It was a couple of weeks away from Halloween, and the interior decor of the bar was starting to reflect it, slowly but surely. Cronus was there, and he was chatting up a smarmy-looking girl with long braids, fuschia-framed eyeglasses and a hell of an attitude to match his. It definitely wasn’t going to go anywhere, and Kurloz shook his head in amusement as he watched how Cronus slowly lost his moxy as she shot down every pathetic flirting attempt and offers to buy her a drink. It was sad to watch.

_He_ was sad. Pitiful. _Lonely._ Nearly seven billion people on the planet and he couldn't find a single one to love him. Kurloz wonders if he were to maybe have just one more cold refill of crisp, clear vodka, if he would have the nerve to go up to Cronus and take that funny, quirky man by the hand and ask him for a dance.

Kurloz sighs as a fist sails into Cronus's jaw, and he pays his tab.

Next week. When he sees him again next Friday, he'll do it. He has the opening shift tomorrow at the tattoo and piercing parlor he works at, and Porrim will be cross with him if he shows up hungover and or late, all for want of spending time in the company of an attractive man.

...Except, when he shows up at exactly 930PM that following Friday, his indigo eyes can't find hide nor hair of his favorite greaser.

He doesn't show up the Friday after that, either.

Or the next one. Or the next one.

It's been a month since he's seen Cronus's face, and every time he pictures him in his head, his chest aches painfully, regrets lingering in the back of his mind. Kurloz finishes off his vodka on the rocks and pays his tab, and he's about to walk out until he catches sight of a familiar jacket. He feels that ache in his chest again, but this time it's accompanied by a smile.

Liquid courage be damned, he's not going to let this opportunity pass him again. Reaching out, he gently places a hand on his shoulder, only...

_It's not him._

His heart sinks again, and it feels like he's been punched in the gut.

He looks almost exactly like him, but there are scant differences. The stripe of purple in his wavy silken black locks, the dark-framed square hipster glasses, the knit cashmere scarf. At the stranger's questioning look, all he can do is mutter a soft apology in his husky baritone, slightly-hoarse from disuse. "I thought you were up and bein' some other motherfucker I know."

His face falls. "You're him, aren't you? Cronus used t'tell me about this bloke that'd watch him ev'ry night he came here. He would tell me how he was waitin' for you t'say somethin' t'him..." he pauses, Scottish accent heavily lilting his words as he draws Cronus's jacket around him and buries his face in the lapel, no doubt smelling the remnants of his cigarettes and cologne.

Kurloz envies him.

"He was me brother, Cronus."

_...Was?_

"He was shot an' killed a month ago."

Indigo eyes go impossibly wide, and moisture gathers at the corners, threatening to spill over. Kurloz repeats over and over in his head like a mantra, _'I never even told him I liked him...'_

And then he stares into violet, and his heart stops. Because right there in those depths, he sees in Cronus's brother what he saw in him. They are the same--sad. Pitiful. _Lonely._ Wanting to be loved so much that they'll die if necessary in their ravenous pursuit of it. 

Kurloz holds out his hand for his, and watches as the younger man seems to hesitate before accepting it. He leans in and whispers his name into his ear, waiting for a response.

"Eridan Ampora."

_Eridan._ It's a beautiful name, Kurloz thinks. "Wanna go get a coffee or something, bro?"

At the other’s faint nod, he laces his fingers with his, and leaves the bar. He doesn't plan on coming back.

Kurloz never really found himself attracted to hipster-types with a passion for romantic comedies and the most ridiculous collection of scarves known to man. But then Eridan walked into his life.

_He's not letting this one go._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :o)


End file.
